


you say it best (when you say nothing at all)

by harlequin87



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25974571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin87/pseuds/harlequin87
Summary: Toni wins the championship.
Relationships: António Félix da Costa/Robin Frijns
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	you say it best (when you say nothing at all)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://youtu.be/d7LfHL8Cn5Y?list=PLiSlrzIEN5WLGgwWXO_ZKOe-SEjVNB9-q&t=265) moment.

Robin’s pissed off about it, of course he is – qualifying tenth might not give him a shot at the podium, but it’s a promise of valuable points. But no, the stupid car, battery, whatever it is, refuses to start on the way to the grid, and his race is over before it’s even begun.

The team tell him to go and get changed, cool off for a bit, and then come back and watch the race with them if he wants. Which – he’s a racing driver; the second-best thing to driving himself is probably watching. He can get over the frustration quickly enough, anyway. With another double header in three days, he’s got no time to mope.

Besides, if there were any race of the season he’d want to watch live instead of driving in, it would be this one. Toni’s starting second, and he’ll take the championship if he stays there. He’s already chewing on his fingernails before the race starts – he can’t imagine there’ll be much left of them by the end.

Once he’s dressed again – shorts and a T-shirt much more appropriate for the weather than a race suit, small mercies – he goes back out to the garage to watch with his engineers. They don’t exactly know the truth of his and António’s relationship, but Sam’s joked about it enough that everyone knows who he’s rooting for today.

He pulls up a chair, grabbing a spare set of headphones, and sits behind his mechanics and engineers to be slightly out of view of the cameras. “Alright, Robin?” one of them asks, leaning back to poke his leg, and he nods, eyes fixed on the screens. The mechanic gets the message, and they leave him in peace.

It’s a decent start for the Techeetahs and Sam, everyone going cleanly round the first couple of corners, and Robin can relax a little. Not for long, though – Max is caught up in traffic and crashes out. He bites at his nails, curling and uncurling his toes inside his trainers. The safety car (who decided to make it a convertible, honestly) circulates, and the gold cars remain in front.

The clock ticks down in the corner of the screen. He can hear the cars screaming around the track, noise echoing off the concrete, but it’s like he’s in his own little bubble. Ten minutes, then five minutes. It’s the final minute and then the final lap. Toni’s energy goes down to 0.8%, then 0.4%. Robin finds himself muttering, “Regen, regen,” into his clenched fist.

Back up to 0.5%, round the final corner, down the straight. The top three are all on 0% as they coast across the line, and he can breathe again.

(Sam’s finished in eleventh, just out of the points. In this moment, he genuinely couldn’t care less.)

The Techeetah team’s yelling is loud enough to carry down to their garage, and he guesses they’re the only ones who’ll be celebrating tonight – maybe Nissan, with their P3, but it’s Techeetah’s day.

On screen, the feed has cut to Toni, still driving back round the track, one hand on the wheel and one hand rubbing at his eyes. He’s talking on the radio, Robin knows, but all he can pay attention to is the shuddering inhales and exhales of his boyfriend. Fuck, Toni’s crying, and Robin’s about to start doing the same.

He turns away, blinking hard to dispel the tears. From the Andretti days, it’s been such a long journey, and he’s so happy that António has his reward at last.

When he’s able to look up again without becoming the butt of the team’s jokes for the next season and beyond, Toni’s backstage, swapping his helmet for a face mask. Jack’s waxing lyrical about how much everyone loves him in the paddock, and he preens for a second – damn right they should – but then Buemi’s hugging Toni and Robin wants to growl. That’s _his_ boyfriend, for fuck’s sake. He’s the one that should be out there with him right now, but he’s back in the Envision garage with no idea when he’s going to see him next.

He sees the Techeetah handler giving Toni his phone, and he grabs his own out of his pocket. _Love you man_ , he sends with a string of heart emojis to get the point across. The feed doesn’t show if Toni sees the message, but he knows he will soon.

Then there’s another interview, and Robin’s going to have to start pretending he’s got allergies if Toni keeps talking much longer. He’s talking about how he’s so happy and lost for words and doesn’t know what to say, and Robin can honestly agree. He hasn’t won the championship – hasn’t won anything in a while, it feels like – but this is surely the next best feeling.

Jack goes through the results from the race and the championship standings – Robin’s zoning out a little, he has to admit. The important thing is that António’s won, so can they please hurry up and finish so he can go and tell him how perfect he is in person?

It’s the podium ceremony after that, and he’s happy to see how thrilled his boyfriend looks once more. The stupid flag skirt is back for what feels like the millionth time, and then they’re running around and spraying the teams with champagne. He’s not jealous of Jev, not anymore (not like he was jealous of Alex, back when he was more insecure in their relationship).

He’d just do almost anything to be the one out there right now, hugging Toni in an ecstasy of champagne and tears. Instead, he’s curled up on a plastic chair two hundred metres away, chewing on his lip now his nails are bitten down to the quick.

The camera moves off the two drivers after that, cutting to an interview with Mark Preston, and Robin turns his attention back to his phone. _You look really happy, can’t wait to hug you_ , he sends, feeling only marginally pathetic.

Sam comes back into the garage after that, and it’s a good enough distraction while the screens are showing more interviews and highlights of the stupid Jaguar cup thing. “Good race,” he murmurs into Sam’s shoulder, having stood up to hug him.

“Thanks,” Sam says, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Bet you’re happier for António, though.”

Robin shrugs, grinning helplessly. What’s he supposed to say in answer to that? “Yeah,” he says. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Sam ruffles his hair and Robin gets him back with a poke in the ribs before he’s off to his driver’s room to change out of his stinking Nomex. He looks back at the screens, almost instinctively now. One of the engineers moves to switch it off, and he gives them a hard stare. Sure, he could watch it on his phone, but he wants António’s face in as many pixels as possible before he gets to see it in real life.

They’re interviewing Jev now, all three presenters in a circle around him. That can only mean it’s Toni’s turn next. Robin half-listens to Jev talk, laughing at the Jeandre bit. He’s more impatient, though. Maybe he won the race, but they should be talking to the guy who won the championship.

Finally, after a literal age, Jev leaves and António takes his place. Robin can’t take in the words, too busy staring at his champagne-stiff curls, backlit like some kind of angel, and his eyes glowing under the cap. Not for the first time, he finds himself thinking, _he’s perfect_.

He’s jolted out of it by the mention of his own name.

“He was my teammate, he got fired, he went away from Formula E for a year-” Robin can’t stop a wince at that- “and he had the chance to come back and, you know, we were _killing_ it to beat each other for P19 at the time, being lapped by Sébastien, by Jev, by Lucas…”

The tall not-Jack presenter interrupts, and Robin wants to run over there and shout at him. His Toni’s saying nice things about him on international TV, so he needs to shut up and let him talk.

“And, you know,” Toni continues, “they kept looking at me and Robin like, we were okay, you know, but not really our place, and now, having the right stuff underneath me, it’s…” Not-Jack interrupts again, but Robin’s satisfied now. The acknowledgement of _me and Robin_ is enough for the moment.

Toni finishes off by thanking Red Bull (Robin wouldn’t, proving once again that his boyfriend really is the nicest guy in the paddock) and BMW. Then Jack’s monologuing about just how lovely and friendly he is, and not-Jack’s wrapping up the stream. He nods curtly to the engineer’s questioning look. He doesn’t care if the screen’s on or not when Toni’s not going to be on it.

Sam’s back, looking more alert and less like he’s been in a sauna, so he supposes it’s time for the debrief. He doesn’t have much to contribute aside from talking about quali because the car not starting was nothing to do with him. The guys all talk around him, while he thinks about how Toni’s probably doing the same with Techeetah and all their trophies a few garages over.

After a minute dissection of Sam’s race – it’s always more boring talking about someone else’s driving, Robin’s come to realise by now – they’re released to get some food at the onsite canteen. He surreptitiously texts António that he and Sam will be having dinner until about nine, then follows after his teammate.

Sam makes conversation enough for the both of them during the meal, a knowing glint in his eye. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” he says, leaning forward. Robin nods absentmindedly. Almost all the other drivers have been in and out for their food already, so Toni must be minutes away at most.

“He just has more media to do, that’s all,” Sam adds, and Robin wants to punch himself for forgetting. Even so, that can only be a ten- or fifteen-minute delay. Ten minutes, he tells himself. Ten minutes, maximum.

Sam waits with him, texting Holly and occasionally showing Robin photos of Buddy. He’s glad of the distraction, really – he’s just annoyed he has to have it in the first place.

At least twenty minutes have passed, and he can’t summon the energy to go up for more food. Knowing his luck, though, Toni would arrive the minute his back was turned and everyone else would get to him first, and then it would be another twenty-minute wait.

He twiddles his thumbs, crosses and uncrosses his legs, and plays with his paddock pass. The sun has almost set outside, showing just how long he’s been waiting. Honestly, it’s like Toni can’t even be bothered to come and find him, his _boyfriend_.

“Let’s go,” he says to Sam. “We’ve waited long enough.” His car broke down before the race today; he can afford to be a bit bratty.

Sam leads him through the winding maze of tables towards the door of the catering tent. A guy in a white shirt holds the door open for them, and then-

Toni’s standing there, taking a drink and pulling up his facemask as they approach. Robin’s annoyance melts away at the massive smile on his face. Sam’s in front of him, going in for the fist bump and a quick hug, and he knows he’s got to wait his turn.

“Thanks for your big fair play, man, always,” Toni’s saying, and Sam pats at his side and tells him he deserves it. Then he steps away – the man might have a subtlety of a brick wall at times (for reference: all Behind the Visor episodes, ever) but he does at least know when to leave Robin and Toni to it.

António turns to face Robin, and they’re both grinning behind the masks, eyes crinkling in the half-light. They don’t need to say anything, as Toni brings his arms up to hug Robin, easy as breathing. It’s the same undercurrent of excitement as the last time, after breakfast that morning, multiplied by a thousand.

Robin feels Toni exhale against him. that same shuddery breath as he’d heard on the radio an hour before. He pats at his back a little, to keep it no homo enough for the cameras he can see out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise lets himself sink into the hug.

It’s like Toni was saying earlier. Back in the Andretti days, it was them against the world. Now it’s them and Toni’s incredible car not only against the world, but beating the world. “So proud of you,” he murmurs into his boyfriend’s neck. Jev’s hanging around in the background too, and he doesn’t want too much gossip circulating.

“I know the FIA will kill me for this,” Toni says quietly, “but I’ll fight them for you.” Then he’s pulling down his fancy Techeetah facemask and unhooking one loop of Robin’s shitty disposable one from around his ear, and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Robin’s too startled to react – too shocked to say _Covid_ , let alone kiss back like he’s been wanting to for hours. António pulls both their masks back into place, cheeky grin obscured once more. “I’ll see you back at the hotel, man,” he says, voice back up to its usual volume. “Drinks are on me.”

“See you soon,” he murmurs, letting his hand trail down Toni’s arm to grasp at his fingers for a split second. António steps back, follows Jev into the canteen. Robin is left alone once more, Sam having disappeared into the night – probably to find a jumper, it’s pretty cold compared to earlier.

He walks back along the pit lane to the Envision garage, lights blinking at him from across the airfield. It’s a calm night with nothing obscuring the stars above, and the noise from central Berlin a background, not front and centre.

He’s content, he realises with surprise. Of course, winning himself is always the aim, but this is a pretty close second. António Félix da Costa, Formula E champion – he doesn’t mind it at all.


End file.
